ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


MAIN    STREET   AND    OTHER   POEMS 


MAIN 
STREET 

and 

OTHER  POEMS 


COPYRIGHT,  1917, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


IL  t 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 
MRS.    EDMUND     LEAMY 


Some  of  these  poems  are  reprinted  by  permission,  which  is 
hereby  gratefully  acknowledged,  of  The  Bellman,  The  Bookman, 
The  Boston  Transcript,  the  Catholic  World,  Collier's,  The 
Columbiad,  Contemporary  Verse,  The  Delineator,  Extension, 
House  and  Garden,  The  Magnificat,  McBride's  Magazine,  The 
National  Sunday  Magazine,  The  New  Witness,  The  New  York 
Times,  The  Outlook,  Poetry:  a  Magazine  of  Verse,  The  Poetry 
Review,  The  Queen's  Work,  and  Studies. 


CONTENTS 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Main  Street 13 

Roofs 16 

The  Snowman  in  the  Yard 19 

A  Blue  Valentine  .     .     . .22 

Houses 26 

In  Memory 28 

Apology 31 

The  Proud  Poet 34 

Lionel  Johnson 38 

Father  Gerard  Hopkins,  S.  J 39 

Gates  and  Doors 40 

The  Robe  of  Christ 43 

The  Singing  Girl 47 

The  Annunciation .  48 

Roses 49 

The  Visitation 51 

Multiplication 52 

Thanksgiving 54 

[9] 


CONTENTS 


Page 

The  Thorn 55 

The  Big  Top 56 

Queen  Elizabeth  Speaks 60 

Mid-ocean  in  War-time 61 

In  Memory  of  Rupert  Brooke 62 

The  New  School 63 

Easter  Week 66 

The  Cathedral  of  Rheims 68 

Kings 73 

The  White  Ships  and  the  Red 74 


[10] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


MAIN  STREET 

(For  S.  M.  L.) 

T  LIKE  to  look  at  the  blossomy  track  of  the  moon 

upon  the  sea, 
But  it  isn't  half  so  fine  a  sight  as  Main  Street  used 

to  be 
When  it  all  was  covered  over  with  a  couple  of 

feet  of  snow, 
And  over  the  crisp  and  radiant  road  the  ringing 

sleighs  would  go. 

Now,  Main  Street  bordered  with  autumn  leaves, 

it  was  a  pleasant  thing, 
And  its  gutters  were  gay  with  dandelions  early  in 

the  Spring; 
I  like  to  think  of  it  white  with  frost  or  dusty  in 

the  heat, 
Because  I  think  it  is  humaner  than  any  other 

street. 


[13] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
MAIN  STREET  (continued) 

A  city  street  that  is  busy  and  wide  is  ground  by  a 

thousand  wheels, 
And  a  burden  of  traffic  on  its  breast  is  all  it  ever 

feels: 
It  is  dully  conscious  of  weight  and  speed  and  of 

work  that  never  ends, 

But  it  cannot  be  human  like  Main  Street,  and 

•/" 
recognise  its  friends. 

There  were  only  about  a  hundred  teams  on  Main 

Street  in  a  day, 
And  twenty  or  thirty  people,  I  guess,  and  some 

children  out  to  play. 
And  there  wasn't  a  wagon  or  buggy,  or  a  man  or 

a  girl  or  a  boy 
That  Mam  Street  didn't  remember,  and  somehow 

seem  to  enjoy. 

The  truck  and  the  motor  and  trolley  car  and  the 

elevated  train 
They  make  the  weary  city  street  reverberate  with 

pain: 


14] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
MAIN  STREET  (continued) 

But  there  is  yet  an  echo  left  deep  down  within  my 

heart 
Of  the  music  the  Main  Street  cobblestones  made 

beneath  a  butcher's  cart. 

God  be  thanked  for  the  Milky  Way  that  runs 
across  the  sky, 

That's  the  path  that  my  feet  would  tread  when 
ever  I  have  to  die. 

Some  folks  call  it  a  Silver  Sword,  and  some  a 
Pearly  Crown, 

But  the  only  thing  I  think  it  is,  is  Main  Street, 
Heaventown. 


15] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


ROOFS 

(For  Amelia  Josephine  Burr) 

road  is  wide  and  the  stars  are  out  and  the 
breath  of  the  night  is  sweet, 
And  this  is  the  tune  when  wanderlust  should 

seize  upon  my  feet. 
But  I'm  glad  to  turn  from  the  open  road  and  the 

starlight  on  my  face, 

And  to  leave  the  splendour  of  out-of-doors  for  a 
human  dwelling  place. 

I  never  have  seen  a  vagabond^  who  really  liked  to 

roam 
All  up  and  down  the  streets  of  the  world  and  not 

to  have  a  home : 
The  tramp  who  slept  in  your  barn  last  night  and 

left  at  break  of  day 
Will  wander  only  until  he  finds  another  place  to 

stay. 


[16] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

ROOFS  (continued) 

A  gypsy-man  will  sleep  in  his  cart  with  canvas 

overhead; 
Or  else  he'll  go  into  his  tent  when  it  is  time  for 

bed. 
He'll  sit  on  the  grass  and  take  his  ease  so  long 

as  the  sun  is  high, 
But  when  it  is  dark  he  wants  a  roof  to  keep  away 

the  sky. 

If  you  call  a  gypsy  a  vagabond,  I  think  you  do  him 

wrong, 
For  he  never  goes  a-travelling  but  he  takes  his 

home  along. 
And  the  only  reason  a  road  is  good,  as  every 

wanderer  knows, 
Is  just  because  of  the  homes,  the  homes,  the 

homes  to  .which  it  goes. 

They  say  that  life  is  a  highway  and  its  milestones 

are  the  years, 
And  now  and  then  there's  a  toll-gate  where  you 

buy  your  way  with  tears. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
ROOFS  (continued) 

It's  a  rough  road  and  a  steep  road  and  it  stretches 

broad  and  far, 
But  at  last  it  leads  to  a  golden  Town  where 

golden  Houses  are. 


[18] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


T 


THE  SNOWMAN  IN  THE  YARD 

(For  Thomas  Augustine  Daly) 

HE  Judge's  house  has  a  splendid  porch,  with 

pillars  and  steps  of  stone, 
And  the  Judge  has  a  lovely  flowering  hedge 

that  came  from  across  the  seas; 
In  the  Hales*  garage  you  could  put  my  house  and 

everything  I  own, 

And  the  Hales  have  a  lawn  like  an  emerald 
and  a  row  of  poplar  trees. 

Now  I  have  only  a  little  house,  and  only  a  little 

lot, 
And  only  a  few  square  yards  of  lawn,  with 

dandelions  starred; 
But  when  Whiter  comes,  I  have  something  there 

that  the  Judge  and  the  Hales  have  not, 
And  it's  better  worth  having  than  all  their 
wealth — it's  a  snowman  in  the  yard. 


[19 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  SNOWMAN  IN  THE  YARD  (continued) 

The  Judge's  money  brings  architects  to  make  his 

mansion  fair; 
The  Hales  have  seven  gardeners  to  make  their 

roses  grow; 
The  Judge  can  get  his  trees  from  Spain  and 

France  and  everywhere, 

And  raise  his  orchids  under  glass  hi  the  midst 
of  all  the  snow. 

But  I  have  something  no  architect  or  gardener 

ever  made, 
A  thing  that  is  shaped  by  the  busy  touch  of 

little  mittened  hands: 
And  the  Judge  would  give  up  his  lonely  estate, 

where  the  level  snow  is  laid 
For  the  tiny  house  with  the  trampled  yard,  the 
yard  where  the  snowman  stands. 

They  say  that  after  Adam  and  Eve  were  driven 

away  in  tears 

To   toil   and   suffer   their   life-time   through, 
because  of  the  sin  they  sinned, 

[20] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  SNOWMAN  IN  THE  YARD  (continued) 

The  Lord  made  Winter  to  punish  them  for  half 

their  exiled  years, 

To  chill  their  blood  with  the  snow,  and  pierce 
their  flesh  with  the  icy  wind. 

But  we  who  inherit  the  primal  curse,  and  labour 

for  our  bread, 
Have  yet,  thank  God,  the  gift  of  Home,  though 

Eden's  gate  is  barred: 
And  through  the  Winter's  crystal  veil,  Love's 

roses  blossom  red, 

For  him  who  lives  in  a  house  that  has  a  snow 
man  in  the  yard. 


[21] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


A  BLUE  VALENTINE 

(For  Aline) 

1VTONSIGNORE, 

Right  Reverend  Bishop  Valentinus, 
Sometime  of  Interamna,  which  is  called  Ferni, 
Now  of  the  delightful  Court  of  Heaven, 
I  respectfully  salute  you, 
I  genuflect 
And  I  kiss  your  episcopal  ring. 

It  is  not,  Monsignore, 
The  fragrant  memory  of  your  holy  life, 
Nor  that  of  your  shining  and  joyous  martyrdom, 
Which  causes  me  now  to  address  you. 
But  since  this  is  your  august  festival,  Monsignore, 
It  seems  appropriate  to  me  to  state 
According  to  a  venerable  and  agreeable  custom, 
That  I  love  a  beautiful  lady. 
Her  eyes,  Monsignore, 

Are  so  blue  that  they  put  lovely  little  blue  reflec 
tions 


22 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

A  BLUE  VALENTINE  (continued) 

On  everything  that  she  looks  at, 

Such  as  a  wall 

Or  the  moon 

Or  my  heart. 

It  is  like  the  light  coming  through  blue  stained 

glass, 

Yet  not  quite  like  it, 
For  the  blueness  is  not  transparent, 
Only  translucent. 
Her  soul's  light  shines  through, 
But  her  soul  cannot  be  seen. 
It  is  something  elusive,  whimsical,  tender,  wanton, 

infantile,  wise 
And  noble. 

She  wears,  Monsignore,  a  blue  garment. 
Made  in  the  manner  of  the  Japanese. 
It  is  very  blue — 

I  think  that  her  eyes  have  made  it  more  blue, 
Sweetly  staining  it 
As  the  pressure  of  her  body  has  graciously  given 

it  form. 

[23] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
A  BLUE  VALENTINE  (continued 

Loving  her,  Monsignore, 
I  love  all  her  attributes; 
But  I  believe 

That  even  if  I  did  not  love  her 
I  would  love  the  blueness  of  her  eyes, 
And  her  blue  garment,  made  in  the  manner  of 
the  Japanese. 

Monsignore, 

I  have  never  before  troubled  you  with  a  request. 

The  saints  whose  ears  I  chiefly  worry  with  my 

pleas  are  the  most  exquisite  and  maternal 

Brigid, 

Gallant  Saint  Stephen,  who  puts  fire  hi  my  blood, 
And  your  brother  bishop,  my  patron, 
The  generous  and  jovial  Saint  Nicholas  of  Ban. 
But,  of  your  courtesy,  Monsignore, 
Do  me  this  favour: 

When  you  this  morning  make  your  way 
To  the  Ivory  Throne  that  bursts  into  bloom  with 

roses  because  of  her  who  sits  upon  it, 

[24] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
A  BLUE  VALENTINE  (continued) 

When  you  come  to  pay  your  devoir  to  Our  Lady, 

I  beg  you,  say  to  her: 

"Madame,   a  poor  poet,   one   of  your   singing 

servants  yet  on  earth, 
Has  asked  me  to  say  that  at  this  moment  he  is 

especially  grateful  to  you 
For  wearing  a  blue  gown." 


[25] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


HOUSES 

(For  Aline) 

N  you  shall  die  and  to  the  sky 
Serenely,  delicately  go, 
Saint  Peter,  when  he  sees  you  there, 

Will  clash  his  keys  and  say: 
"Now  talk  to  her,  Sir  Christopher! 

And  hurry,    Michelangelo ! 
She  wants  to  play  at  building, 
And  you've  got  to  help  her  play!" 

Every  architect  will  help  erect 

A  palace  on  a  lawn  of  cloud, 
With  rainbow  beams  and  a  sunset  roof, 

And  a  level  star-tiled  floor; 
And  at  your  will  you  may  use  the  skill 

Of  this  gay  angelic  crowd, 
When  a  house  is  made  you  will  throw  it  down, 

And  they'll  build  you  twenty  more. 


[26] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

HOUSES  (continued) 

For  Christopher  Wren  and  these  other  men 

Who  used  to  build  on  earth 
Will  love  to  go  to  work  again 

If  they  may  work  for  you. 
"This  porch,"  you'll  say,  "should  go  this 
way!" 

And  they'll  work  for  all  they're  worth, 
And   they'll    come    to    your    palace    every 
morning, 

And  ask  you  what  to  do. 

And  when  night  comes  down  on  Heaven-town 

(If  there  should  be  night  up  there) 
You  will  choose  the  house  you  like  the  best 

Of  all  that  you  can  see: 
And  its  walls  will  glow  as  you  drowsily  go 

To  the  bed  up  the  golden  stair, 
And  I  hope  you'll  be  gentle  enough  to  keep 

A  room  in  your  house  for  me. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


IN  MEMORY 


QERENE  and  beautiful  and  very  wise, 

Most  erudite  in  curious  Grecian  lore, 

You  lay  and  read  your  learned  books,  and  bore 
A  weight  of  unshed  tears  and  silent  sighs. 
The  song  within  your  heart  could  never  rise 

Until  love  bade  it  spread  its  wings  and  soar. 

Nor  could  you  look  on  Beauty's  face  before 
A  poet's  burning  mouth  had  touched  your  eyes. 

Love  is  made  out  of  ecstasy  and  wonder; 

Love  is  a  poignant  and  accustomed  pain. 
It  is  a  burst  of  Heaven-shaking  thunder; 

It  is  a  linnet's  fluting  after  rain. 
Love's  voice  is  through  your  song;  above  and 
under 

And  hi  each  note  to  echo  and  remain. 


[28] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


IN  MEMORY  (continued) 


Because  Mankind  is  glad  and  brave  and  young, 
Full  of  gay  flames  that  white  and  scarlet  glow, 
All  joys  and  passions  that  Mankind  may  know 

By  you  were  nobly  felt  and  nobly  sung. 

Because  Mankind's  heart  every  day  is  wrung 
By  Fate's  wild  hands  that  twist  and  tear  it  so, 
Therefore  you  echoed  Man's  undying  woe, 

A  harp  Aeolian  on  Life's  branches  hung. 

So  did  the  ghosts  of  toiling  children  hover 
About  the  piteous  portals  of  your  mind; 

Your  eyes,  that  looked  on  glory,  could  discover 
The  angry  scar  to  which  the  world  was  blind: 

And  it  was  grief  that  made  Mankind  your  lover, 
And  it  was  grief  that  made  you  love  Mankind. 


[29 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

IN  MEMORY  (continued) 

m 

Before  Christ  left  the  Citadel  of  Light, 
To  tread  the  dreadful  way  of  human  birth, 
His  shadow  sometimes  fell  upon  the  earth 

And  those  who  saw  it  wept  with  joy  and  fright. 

"Thou  art  Apollo,  than  the  sun  more  bright!" 
They  cried.    "Our  music  is  of  little  worth, 
But  thrill  our  blood  with  thy  creative  mirth 

Thou  god  of  song,  thou  lord  of  lyric  might!" 

O  singing  pilgrim !  who  could  love  and  follow 
Your  lover  Christ,  through  even  love's  despair, 

You  knew  within  the  cypress-darkened  hollow 
The  feet  that  on  the  mountain  are  so  fair. 

For  it  was  Christ  that  was  your  own  Apollo, 
And  thorns  were  in  the  laurel  on  your  hair. 


[30 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


APOLOGY 

(For  Eleanor  Rogers  Cox) 

r?OR  blows  on  the  fort  of  evil 

That  never  shows  a  breach, 
For  terrible  lif  e-long  races 

To  a  goal  no  foot  can  reach, 
For  reckless  leaps  into  darkness 

With  hands  outstretched  to  a  star, 
There  is  jubilation  in  Heaven 

Where  the  great  dead  poets  are. 

There  is  joy  over  disappointment 

And  delight  in  hopes  that  were  vain. 
Each  poet  is  glad  there  was  no  cure 

To  stop  his  lonely  pain. 
For  nothing  keeps  a  poet 

In  his  high  singing  mood 
Like  unappeasable  hunger 

For  unattainable  food. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

APOLOGY  (continued) 

So  fools  are  glad  of  the  folly 

That  made  them  weep  and  sing, 
And  Keats  is  thankful  for  Fanny  Brawne 

And  Drummond  for  his  king. 
They  know  that  on  flinty  sorrow 

And  failure  and  desire 
The  steel  of  their  souls  was  hammered 

To  bring  forth  the  lyric  fire. 

Lord  Byron  and  Shelley  and  Plunkett, 

McDonough  and  Hunt  and  Pearse 
See  now  why  then:  hatred  of  tyrants 

Was  so  insistently  fierce. 
Is  Freedom  only  a  Will-o'-the-wisp 

To  cheat  a  poet's  eye? 
Be  it  phantom  or  fact,  it's  a  noble  cause 

In  which  to  sing  and  to  die ! 

So  not  for  the  Rainbow  taken 
And  the  magical  White  Bird  snared 

The  poets  sing  grateful  carols 
In  the  place  to  which  they  have  fared; 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

APOLOGY  (continued) 

But  for  their  lifetime's  passion, 

The  quest  that  was  fruitless  and  long, 

They  chorus  their  loud  thanksgiving 
To  the  thorn-crowned  Master  of  Song. 


33 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  PROUD  POET 

(For  Shaemas  O  Sheel) 

ONE  winter  night  a  Devil  came  and  sat  upon 
my  bed, 
His  eyes  were  full  of  laughter  for  his  heart  was 

full  of  crime. 

"Why  don't  you  take  up  fancy  work,  or  embroi 
dery?"  he  said, 
"For  a  needle  is  as  manly  a  tool  as  a  pen  that 

makes  a  rhyme!" 
"You  little  ugly  Devil,"  said  I,  "go  back  to  Hell 

For  the  idea  you  express  I  will  not  listen  to: 
I  have  trouble  enough  with  poetry  and  poverty  as 

well, 

Without  having  to  pay  attention  to  orators  like 
you. 

"When  you  say  of  the  making  of  ballads  and 

songs  that  it  is  woman's  work 
You  forget  all  the  fighting  poets  that  have  been 
in  every  land. 

[34] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  PROUD  POET  (continued) 

There  was  Byron  who  left  all  his  lady-loves  to 

fight  against  the  Turk, 
And  David,  the  Singing  King  of  the  Jews,  who 

was  born  with  a  sword  in  his  hand. 
It  was  yesterday  that  Rupert  Brooke  went  out  to 

the  Wars  and  died, 
And  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  lyric  voice  was  as  sweet 

as  his  arm  was  strong; 
And  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  met  the  axe  as  a  lover 

meets  his  bride, 

Because  he  carried  in  his  soul  the  courage  of 
his  song. 

"And  there  is  no  consolation  so  quickening  to  the 

heart 
As  the  warmth  and  whiteness  that  come  from 

the  lines  of  noble  poetry. 
It  is  strong  joy  to  read  it  when  the  wounds  of  the 

spirit  smart, 

It  puts  the  flame  in  a  lonely  breast  where  only 
ashes  be. 

[35] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  PROUD  POET  (continued) 

It  is  strong  joy  to  read  it,  and  to  make  it  is  a 

thing 
That  exalts  a  man  with  a  sacreder  pride  than 

any  pride  on  earth. 
For  it  makes  him  kneel  to  a  broken  slave  and  set 

his  foot  on  a  long, 

And  it  shakes  the  walls  of  his  little  soul  with 
the  echo  of  God's  mirth. 

"There  was  the  poet  Homer  had  the  sorrow  to  be 

blind, 
Yet  a  hundred  people  with  good  eyes  would 

listen  to  him  all  night; 
For  they  took  great  enjoyment  in  the  heaven  of 

his  mind, 
And  were  glad  when  the  old  blind  poet  let  them 

share  his  powers  of  sight. 
And  there  was  Heine  lying  on  his  mattress  all  day 

long, 

He  had  no  wealth,  he  had  no  friends,  he  had  no 
joy  at  all, 

[36] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  PROUD  POET  (continued) 

Except  to  pour  his  sorrow  into  little  cups  of  song, 
And  the  world  finds  in  them  the  magic  wine 
that  his  broken  heart  let  fall. 

"And  these  are  only  a  couple  of  names  from  a  list 

of  a  thousand  score 
Who  have  put  their  glory  on  the  world  in  poverty 

and  pain. 
And  the  title  of  poet's  a  noble  thing,  worth  living 

and  dying  for, 
Though  all  the  devils  on  earth  and  in  Hell  spit 

at  me  their  disdain. 
It  is  stern  work,  it  is  perilous  work,  to  thrust  your 

hand  in  the  sun 
And  pull  out  a  spark  of  immortal  flame  to  warm 

the  hearts  of  men: 
But  Prometheus,  torn  by  the  claws  and  beaks 

whose  task  is  never  done, 
Would   be   tortured   another   eternity   to   go 
stealing  fire  again." 


[37] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


LIONEL  JOHNSON 

(For  the  Rev.  John  J.  Burke,  C.  S.  P.) 

T^HERE  was  a  murkier  tinge  in  London's  air 
As  if  the  honest  fog  blushed  black  for  shame. 
Fools  sang  of  sin,  for  other  fools'  acclaim, 
And  Milton's  wreath  was  tossed  to  Baudelaire* 
The  flowers  of  evil  blossomed  everywhere, 
But  in  their  midst  a  radiant  lily  came 
Candescent,  pure,  a  cup  of  living  flame, 
Bloomed  for  a  day,  and  left  the  earth  more  fair 

And  was  it  Charles,  thy  "fair  and  fatal  King," 
Who  bade  thee  welcome  to  the  lovely  land? 

Or  did  Lord  David  cease  to  harp  and  sing 
To  take  in  his  thine  emulative  hand? 

Or  did  Our  Lady's  smile  shine  forth,  to  bring 
Her  lyric  Knight  within  her  choir  to  stand? 


[38] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


FATHER  GERARD  HOPKINS,  S.  J. 

TI7HY  didst  thou  carve  thy  speech  laboriously, 
And  match  and  blend  thy  words  with 
curious  art? 

For  Song,  one  saith,  is  but  a  human  heart 
Speaking  aloud,  undisciplined  and  free. 
Nay,  God  be  praised,  Who  fixed  thy  task  for  thee! 
Austere,  ecstatic  craftsman,  set  apart 
From  all  who  traffic  in  Apollo's  mart, 
On  thy  phrased  paten  shall  the  Splendour  be! 

Now,  carelessly  we  throw  a  rhyme  to  God, 
Singing  His  praise  when  other  songs  are  done. 

But  thou,  who  knewest  paths  Teresa  trod, 
Losing  thyself,  what  is  it  thou  hast  won? 

O  bleeding  feet,  with  peace  and  glory  shod! 
O  happy  moth,  that  flew  into  the  Sun! 


[39] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


GATES  AND  DOORS 

(For  Richardson  Little  Wright) 

/1pHERE  was  a  gentle  hostler 

(And  blessed  be  his  name!) 
He  opened  up  the  stable 

The  night  Our  Lady  came. 
Our  Lady  and  Saint  Joseph, 

He  gave  them  food  and  bed, 
And  Jesus  Christ  has  given  him 

A  glory  round  his  head. 

So  let  the  gate  swing  open 

However  poor  the  yard, 
Lest  weary  people  visit  you 

And  find  their  passage  barred; 
Unlatch  the  door  at  midnight 

And  let  your  lantern's  glow 
Shine  out  to  guide  the  traveler's  feet 

To  you  across  the  snow. 


[40] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
GATES  AND  DOORS  (continued) 

There  was  a  courteous  hostler 

(He  Is  in  Heaven  to-night) 
He  held  Our  Lady's  bridle 

And  helped  her  to  alight; 
He  spread  clean  straw  before  her 

Whereon  she  might  lie  down, 
And  Jesus  Christ  has  given  him 

An  everlasting  crown. 

Unlock  the  door  this  evening 

And  let  your  gate  swing  wide, 
Let  all  who  ask  for  shelter 

Come  speedily  inside. 
What  if  your  yard  be  narrow? 

What  if  your  house  be  small? 
There  is  a  Guest  is  coming 

Will  glorify  it  all. 

There  was  a  joyous  hostler 
Who  knelt  on  Christmas  morn 

Beside  the  radiant  manger 
Wherein  his  Lord  was  born. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
GATES  AND  DOORS  (continued) 

His  heart  was  full  of  laughter, 
His  soul  was  full  of  bliss 

When  Jesus,  on  His  Mother's  lap, 
Gave  him  His  hand  to  kiss. 

Unbar  your  heart  this  evening 

And  keep  no  stranger  out. 
Take  from  your  soul's  great  portal 

The  barrier  of  doubt. 
To  humble  folk  and  weary 

Give  hearty  welcoming, 
Your  breast  shall  be  to-morrow 

The  cradle  of  a  King. 


[42 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


A 


THE  ROBE  OF  CHRIST 

(For  Cecil  Chesterton) 

T  the  foot  of  the  Cross  on  Calvary 


Three  soldiers  sat  and  diced, 
And  one  of  them  was  the  Devil 
And  he  won  the  Robe  of  Christ. 

When  the  Devil  comes  in  his  proper  form 
To  the  chamber  where  I  dwell, 

I  know  him  and  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
Which  drives  him  back  to  Hell. 

And  when  he  comes  like  a  friendly  man 

And  puts  his  hand  in  mine, 
The  fervour  in  his  voice  is  not 

From  love  or  joy  or  wine. 

And  when  he  comes  like  a  woman, 

With  lovely,  smiling  eyes, 
Black  dreams  float  over  his  golden  head 

Like  a  swarm  of  carrion  flies. 


[43 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  ROBE  OF  CHRIST  (continued) 

Now  many  a  million  tortured  souls 

In  his  red  halls  there  be: 
Why  does  he  spend  his  subtle  craft 

In  hunting  after  me? 

Kings,  queens  and  crested  warriors 
Whose  memory  rings  through  time, 

These  are  his  prey,  and  what  to  him 
Is  this  poor  man  of  rhyme, 

That  he,  with  such  laborious  skill, 
Should  change  from  r61e  to  r61e, 

Should  daily  act  so  many  a  part 
To  get  my  little  soul? 

Oh,  he  can  be  the  forest, 

And  he  can  be  the  sun, 
Or  a  buttercup,  or  an  hour  of  rest 

When  the  weary  day  is  done. 

I  saw  him  through  a  thousand  veils, 

And  has  not  this  sufficed? 
Now,  must  I  look  on  the  Devil  robed 

In  the  radiant  Robe  of  Christ? 


44 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  ROBE  OF  CHRIST  (continued) 

He  comes,  and  his  face  is  sad  and  mild. 
With  thorns  his  head  is  crowned; 

There  are  great  bleeding  wounds  in  his  feet, 
And  in  each  hand  a  wound. 

How  can  I  tell,  who  am  a  fool, 

If  this  be  Christ  or  no? 
Those  bleeding  hands  outstretched  to  me! 

Those  eyes  that  love  me  so! 

I  see  the  Robe — I  look — I  hope — 

I  fear — but  there  is  one 
Who  will  direct  my  troubled  mind; 

Christ's  Mother  knows  her  Son. 

O  Mother  of  Good  Counsel,  lend 

Intelligence  to  me ! 
Encompass  me  with  wisdom, 

Thou  Tower  of  Ivory! 

"This  is  the  Man  of  Lies,"  she  says, 

"Disguised  with  fearful  art: 
He  has  the  wounded  hands  and  feet, 

But  not  the  wounded  heart." 


45 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  ROBE  OF  CHRIST  (continued) 

Beside  the  Cross  on  Calvary 

She  watched  them  as  they  diced. 

She  saw  the  Devil  join  the  game 
And  win  the  Robe  of  Christ. 


[46] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  SINGING  GIRL 

(For  the  Rev.  Edward  F.  Garesche,  S.  J.) 

was  a  little  maiden 


In  blue  and  silver  drest, 
She  sang  to  God  in  Heaven 
And  God  within  her  breast. 

It  flooded  me  with  pleasure, 

It  pierced  me  like  a  sword, 
When  this  young  maiden  sang:  "My  soul 

Doth  magnify  the  Lord."     . 

The  stars  sing  all  together 

And  hear  the  angels  sing, 
But  they  said  they  had  never  heard 

So  beautiful  a  thing. 

Saint  Mary  and  Saint  Joseph, 

And  Saint  Elizabeth, 
Pray  for  us  poets  now 

And  at  the  hour  of  death. 


[47 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  ANNUNCIATION 

(For  Helen  Parry  Eden) 

TTAIL  Mary,  full  of  grace,"  the  Angel  saith. 

Our  Lady  bows  her  head,  and  is  ashamed; 
She  has  a  Bridegroom  Who  may  not  be  named, 

Her  mortal  flesh  bears  Him  Who  conquers  death. 

Now  in  the  dust  her  spirit  grovelleth; 
Too  bright  a  Sun  before  her  eyes  has  flamed, 
Too  fair  a  herald  joy  too  high  proclaimed, 

And  human  lips  have  trembled  in  God's  breath. 

O  Mother-Maid,  thou  art  ashamed  to  cover 
With  thy  white  self,  whereon  no  stain  can  be, 

Thy  God,  Who  came  from  Heaven  to  be  thy  Lover, 
Thy  God,  Who  came  from  Heaven  to  dwell  in 
thee. 

About  thy  head  celestial  legions  hover, 
Chanting  the  praise  of  thy  humility. 


[48] 


MAIN  STREET  AHD  OTHER  POEMS 


ROSES 

(For  Katherine  Bregy) 

T  WENT  to  gather  roses  and  twine  them  in  a 

ring, 

For  I  would  make  a  posy,  a  posy  for  the  King. 
I  got  an  hundred  roses,  the  loveliest  there  be, 
From  the  white  rose  vine  and  the  pink  rose  bush 
and  from  the  red  rose  tree. 

But  when  I  took  my  posy  and  laid  it  at  His  feet 
I  found  He  had  His  roses  a  million  times  more 

sweet. 
There  was  a  scarlet  blossom  upon  each  foot  and 

hand, 
And  a  great  pink  rose  bloomed  from  His  side  for 

the  healing  of  the  land. 

Now  of  this  fair  and  awful  King  there  is  this 

marvel  told, 
That  He  wears  a  crown  of  linked  thorns  instead 

of  one  of  gold. 


49 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
ROSES  (continued) 

Where  there  are  thorns  are  roses,  and  I  saw  a 

line  of  red, 
A  little  wreath  of  roses  around  His  radiant  head. 

A  red  rose  is  His  Sacred  Heart,  a  white  rose  is 

His  face, 
And  His  breath  has  turned  the  barren  world  to  a 

rich  and  flowery  place. 

He  is  the  Rose  of  Sharon,  His  gardener  am  I, 
And  I  shall  drink  His  fragrance  in  Heaven  when 

I  die. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  VISITATION 

(For  Louise  Imogen  Guiney) 

npHERE  is  a  wall  of  flesh  before  the  eyes 

Of  John,  who  yet  perceives  and  hails  his 
King. 

It  is  Our  Lady's  painful  bliss  to  bring 
Before  mankind  the  Glory  of  the  skies. 
Her  cousin  feels  her  womb's  sweet  burden  rise 
And  leap  with  joy,  and  she  comes  forth  to  sing, 
With  trembling  mouth,  her  words  of  welcoming. 
She  knows  her  hidden  God,  and  prophesies. 

Saint  John,  pray  for  us,  weary  souls  that  tarry 
Where  life  is  withered  by  sin's  deadly  breath. 

Pray  for  us,  whom  the  dogs  of  Satan  harry, 
Saint  John,  Saint  Anne,  and  Saint  Elizabeth. 

And,  Mother  Mary,  give  us  Christ  to  carry 
Within  our  hearts,  that  we  may  conquer  death. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


MULTIPLICATION 

(For  S.  M.  E.) 

T  TAKE  my  leave,  with  sorrow,  of  Him  I  love  so 

1    well; 

I  look  my  last  upon  His  small  and  radiant  prison- 
cell; 

O  happy  lamp!  to  serve  Him  with  never  ceasing 
light! 

0  happy  flame!  to  tremble  forever  in  His  sight! 

1  leave  the  holy  quiet  for  the  loudly  human  train, 
And  my  heart  that  He  has  breathed  upon  is  filled 

with  lonely  pain. 

0  King,  O  Friend,  O  Lover!  What  sorer  grief 

can  be 

In  all  the  reddest  depths  of  Hell  than  banishment 
from  Thee? 

But  from  my  window  as  I  speed  across  the  sleep 
ing  land 

1  see  the  towns  and  villages  wherein  His  houses 

stand. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

MULTIPLICATION  (continued) 

Above  the  roofs  I  see  a  cross  outlined  against  the 

night, 
And  I  know  that  there  my  Lover  dwells  in  His 

sacramental  might. 

Dominions  kneel  before  Him,  and  Powers  kiss 

His  feet, 
Yet  for  me  He  keeps  His  weary  watch  in  the 

turmoil  of  the  street: 

The  King  of  Kings  awaits  me,  wherever  I  may  go, 
O  who  am  I  that  He  should  deign  to  love  and 

serve  me  so? 


[531 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THANKSGIVING 

(For  John  Bunker) 

roar  of  the  world  is  in  my  ears. 
Thank  God  for  the  roar  of  the  world ! 
Thank  God  for  the  mighty  tide  of  fears 
Against  me  always  hurled ! 

Thank  God  for  the  bitter  and  ceaseless  strife, 
And  the  sting  of  His  chastening  rod! 

Thank  God  for  the  stress  and  the  pain  of  life, 
And  Oh,  thank  God  for  God! 


541 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  THORN 

(For  the  Rev.  Charles  L.  O'Donnell,  C.  S.  C.) 

VHE  garden  of  God  is  a  radiant  place, 
And  every  flower  has  a  holy  face : 
Our  Lady  like  a  lily  bends  above  the  cloudy 

sod, 

But  Saint  Michael  is  the  thorn  on  the  rose 
bush  of  God. 

David  is  the  song  upon  God's  lips, 
And  Our  Lady  is  the  goblet  that  He  sips: 
And  Gabriel's  the  breath  of  His  command, 
But  Saint  Michael  is  the  sword  in  God's  right 
hand. 

The  Ivory  Tower  is  fair  to  see, 

And  may  her  walls  encompass  me ! 

But  when  the  Devil  comes  with  the  thunder 

of  his  might, 
Saint  Michael,  show  me  how  to  fight! 


[55] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  BIG  TOP 

/~pHE  boom  and  blare  of  the  big  brass  band  is 

cheering  to  my  heart 
And  I  like  the  smell  of  the  trampled  grass  and 

elephants  and  hay. 
I  take  off  my  hat  to  the  acrobat  with  his  delicate, 

strong  art, 

And  the  motley  mirth  of  the  chalk-faced  clown 
drives  all  my  care  away. 

I  wish  I  could  feel  as  they  must  feel,  these  players 

brave  and  fair, 
Who  nonchalantly  juggle  death  before  a  staring 

throng. 

It  must  be  fine  to  walk  a  line  of  silver  in  the  air 
And  to  cleave  a  hundred  feet  of  space  with  a 
gesture  like  a  song. 

Sir  Henry  Irving  never  knew  a  keener,  sweeter 

thrill 

Than  that  which  stirs  the  breast  of  him  who 
turns  his  painted  face 

[56] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  BIG  TOP  (continued) 

To  the  circling  crowd  who  laugh  aloud  and  clap 

hands  with  a  will 

As  a  tribute  to  the  clown  who  won  the  great 
wheel-barrow  race. 

Now,  one  shall  work  in  the  living  rock  with  a 

mallet  and  a  knife, 
And  another  shall  dance  on  a  big  white  horse 

that  canters  round  a  ring, 
By  another's  hand  shall  colours  stand  in  similitude 

of  life; 

And  the  hearts  of  the  three  shall  be  moved  by 
one  mysterious  high  thing. 

For  the  sculptor  and  the  acrobat  and  the  painter 

are  the  same. 
They  know  one  hope,  one  fear,  one  pride,  one 

sorrow  and  one  mirth, 
And  they  take  delight  in  the  endless  fight  for  the 

fickle  world's  acclaim; 

For  they  worship  art  above  the  clouds  and 
serve  her  on  the  earth. 


571 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  BIG  TOP  (continued) 

But  you,  who  can  build  of  the  stubborn  rock  no 

form  of  loveliness, 
Who  can  never  mingle  the  radiant  hues  to 

make  a  wonder  live, 
Who  can  only  show  your  little  woe  to  the  world  hi 

a  rhythmic  dress — 

What  kind  of  a  counterpart  of  you  does  the 
three-ring  circus  give? 

Well — here  hi  the  little  side-show  tent  to-day 

some  people  stand, 
One  is  a  giant,  one  a  dwarf,  and  one  has  a 

figured  skin, 
And  each  is  scarred  and  seared  and  marred  by 

Fate's  relentless  hand, 

And  each  one  shows  his  grief  for  pay,  with  a 
sort  of  pride  therein. 

You  put  your  sorrow  into  rhyme  and  want  the 

world  to  look; 

You  sing  the  news  of  your  ruined  hope  and 
want  the  world  to  hear; 

[58] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  BIG  TOP  (continued) 

Their  woe  is  pent  in  a  canvas  tent  and  yours  in  a 

printed  book. 

O,   poet   of   the   broken   heart,   salute   your 
brothers  here! 


[59] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH  SPEAKS 

"TITY  hands  were  stained  with  blood,  my  heart 

was  proud  and  cold, 
My  soul  is  black  with  shame  .  .  .  but  I  gave 

Shakespeare  gold. 

So  after  aeons  of  flame,  I  may,  by  grace  of  God, 
Rise  up  to  kiss  the  dust  that  Shakespeare's  feet 

have  trod. 


[60] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


MID-OCEAN  IN  WAR-TIME 

(For  My  Mother) 

/""pHE  fragile  splendour  of  the  level  sea, 

The  moon's  serene  and  silver-veiled  face, 
Make  of  this  vessel  an  enchanted  place 

Full  of  white  mirth  and  golden  sorcery. 

Now,  for  a  time,  shall  careless  laughter  be 
Blended  with  song,  to  lend  song  sweeter  grace, 
And  the  old  stars,  hi  their  unending  race, 

Shall  heed  and  envy  young  humanity. 

And  yet  to-night,  a  hundred  leagues  away, 
These  waters  blush  a  strange  and  awful  red. 

Before  the  moon,  a  cloud  obscenely  grey 
Rises  from  decks  that  crash  with  flying  lead. 

And  these  stars  smile  their  immemorial  way 
On  waves  that  shroud  a  thousand  newly  dead! 


[61] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


IN  MEMORY  OF  RUPERT  BROOKE 

TN  alien  earth,  across  a  troubled  sea, 

His  body  lies  that  was  so  fair  and  young. 
His  mouth  is  stopped,  with  half  his  songs 

unsung; 

His  arm  is  still,  that  struck  to  make  men  free. 
But  let  no  cloud  of  lamentation  be 
Where,  on  a  warrior's  grave,  a  lyre  is  hung. 
We  keep  the  echoes  of  his  golden  tongue, 
We  keep  the  vision  of  his  chivalry. 

So  Israel's  joy,  the  loveliest  of  kings, 

Smote  now  his  harp,  and  now  the  hostile  horde. 
To-day  the  starry  roof  of  Heaven  rings 

With  psalms  a  soldier  made  to  praise  his  Lord; 
And  David  rests  beneath  Eternal  wings, 

Song  on  his  lips,  and  in  his  hand  a  sword. 


[62] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


T 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL 

(For  My  Mother) 

HE  halls  that  were  loud  with  the  merry  tread 

of  young  and  careless  feet 
Are  still  with  a  stillness  that  is  too  drear  to 

seem  like  holiday, 
And  never  a  gust  of  laughter  breaks  the  calm  of 

the  dreaming  street 

Or  rises  to  shake  the  ivied  walls  and  frighten 
the  doves  away. 

The  dust  is  on  book  and  on  empty  desk,  and  the 

tennis-racquet  and  balls 
Lie  still  in  their  lonely  locker  and  wait  for  a 

game  that  is  never  played, 
And  over  the  study  and  lecture-room  and  the 

river  and  meadow  falls 

A  stern  peace,  a  strange  peace,  a  peace  that 
War  has  made. 


[63] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  NEW  SCHOOL  (continued) 

For  many  a  youthful  shoulder  now  is  gay  with  an 

epaulet, 
And  the  hand  that  was  deft  with  a  cricket-bat 

is  defter  with  a  sword, 
And  some  of  the  lads  will  laugh  to-day  where  the 

trench  is  red  and  wet, 

And  some  will  win  on  the  bloody  field  the 
accolade  of  the  Lord. 

They  have  taken  their  youth  and  mirth  away 

from  the  study  and  playing-ground 
To  a  new  school  in  an  alien  land  beneath  an 

alien  sky; 
Out  in  the  smoke  and  roar  of  the  fight  their 

lessons  and  games  are  found, 
And  they  who  were  learning  how  to  live  are 
learning  how  to  die. 

And  after  the  golden  day  has  come  and  the  war  is 

at  an  end, 

A  slab  of  bronze  on  the  chapel  wall  will  tell  of 
the  noble  dead. 


[64] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  NEW  SCHOOL  (continued) 

And  every  name  on  that  radiant  list  will  be  the 

name  of  a  friend, 

A  name  that  shall  through  the  centuries  in 
grateful  prayers  be  said. 

And  there  will  be  ghosts  in  the  old  school,  brave 

ghosts  with  laughing  eyes, 
On  the  field  with  a  ghostly  cricket-bat,  by  the 

stream  with  a  ghostly  rod; 
They  will  touch  the  hearts  of  the  living  with  a 

flame  that  sanctifies, 

A  flame  that  they  took  with  strong  young  hands 
from  the  altar-fires  of  God. 


[65 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


EASTER  WEEK 

(In  memory  of  Joseph  Mary  Plunkett) 
("Romantic  Ireland's  dead  and  gone, 
It's  with  O'Leary  in  the  grave.") 

WILLIAM  BUTLER  YEATS. 

""OOMANTIC  Ireland's  dead  and  gone, 

It's  with  O'Leary  in  the  grave." 
Then,  Yeats,  what  gave  that  Easter  dawn 
A  hue  so  radiantly  brave? 

There  was  a  rain  of  blood  that  day, 
Red  rain  hi  gay  blue  April  weather. 

It  blessed  the  earth  till  it  gave  birth 
To  valour  thick  as  blooms  of  heather. 

Romantic  Ireland  never  dies! 

O'Leary  lies  in  fertile  ground, 
And  songs  and  spears  throughout  the  years 

Rise  up  where  patriot  graves  are  found. 

Immortal  patriots  newly  dead 
And  ye  that  bled  in  bygone  years, 

What  banners  rise  before  your  eyes? 
What  is  the  tune  that  greets  your  ears? 

[66] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

EASTER  WEEK  (continued) 

The  young  Republic's  banners  smile 
For  many  a  mile  where  troops  convene. 

O'Connell  Street  is  loudly  sweet 
With  strains  of  Wearing  of  the  Green. 

The  soil  of  Ireland  throbs  and  glows 
With  life  that  knows  the  hour  is  here 

To  strike  again  like  Irishmen 
For  that  which  Irishmen  hold  dear. 

Lord  Edward  leaves  his  resting  place 
And  Sarsfield's  face  is  glad  and  fierce. 

See  Emmet  leap  from  troubled  sleep 
To  grasp  the  hand  of  Padraic  Pearse! 

There  is  no  rope  can  strangle  song 
And  not  for  long  death  takes  his  toll. 

No  prison  bars  can  dim  the  stars 
Nor  quicklime  eat  the  living  soul. 

Romantic  Ireland  is  not  old. 

For  years  untold  her  youth  will  shine. 
Her  heart  is  fed  on  Heavenly  bread, 

The  blood  of  martyrs  is  her  wine. 

[67] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  RHEIMS 

(From  the  French  of  Emile  Verhaeren) 

TTE  who  walks  through  the  meadows  of  Cham 
pagne 

At  noon  in  Fall,  when  leaves  like  gold  appear, 

Sees  it  draw  near 

Like  some  great  mountain  set  upon  the  plain, 
From  radiant  dawn  until  the  close  of  day, 

Nearer  it  grows 

To  him  who  goes 
Across  the  country.    When  tall  towers  lay 

Their  shadowy  pall 

Upon  his  way, 

He  enters,  where 

The  solid  stone  is  hollowed  deep  by  all 
Its  centuries  of  beauty  and  of  prayer. 

Ancient  French  temple !  thou  whose  hundred  kings 
Watch  over  thee,  emblazoned  on  thy  walls, 
Tell  me,  within  thy  memory-hallowed  halls 
What  chant  of  triumph,  or  what  war-song  rings? 

[68] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  RHEIMS  (continued) 

Thou  hast  known  Clovis  and  his  FranMsh  train, 

Whose  mighty  hand  Saint  Remy's  hand  did  keep 

And  in  thy  spacious  vault  perhaps  may  sleep 

An  echo  of  the  voice  of  Charlemagne. 

For  God  thou  has  known  fear,  when  from  His  side 

Men  wandered,  seeking  alien  shrines  and  new, 

But  still  the  sky  was  bountiful  and  blue 

And  thou  wast  crowned  with  France's  love  and 

pride. 

Sacred  thou  art,  from  pinnacle  to  base; 
And  in  thy  panes  of  gold  and  scarlet  glass 
The  setting  sun  sees  thousandfold  his  face; 
Sorrow  and  joy,  in  stately  silence  pass 
Across  thy  walls,  the  shadow  and  the  light; 
Around  thy  lofty  pillars,  tapers  white 
Illuminate,  with  delicate  sharp  flames, 
The  brows  of  saints  with  venerable  names, 
And  in  the  night  erect  a  fiery  wall. 
A  great  but  silent  fervour  bums  in  all 
Those  simple  folk  who  kneel,  pathetic,  dumb, 
And  know  that  down  below,  beside  the  Rhine— 

[69] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  RHEIMS  (continued) 

Cannon,  horses,  soldiers,  flags  in  line— 
With  b*are  of  trumpets,  mighty  armies  come. 

Suddenly,  each  knows  fear; 

Swift  rumours  pass,  that  every  one  must  hear, 

The  hostile  banners  blaze  against  the  sky 

And  by  the  embassies  mobs  rage  and  cry. 

Now  war  has  come,  and  peace  is  at  an  end. 

On  Paris  town  the  German  troops  descend. 

They  are  turned  back,  and  driven  to  Champagne, 

And  now,  as  to  so  many  weary  men, 

The  glorious  temple  gives  them  welcome,  when 

It  meets  them  at  the  bottom  of  the  plain. 

At  once,  they  set  their  cannon  in  its  way. 

There  is  no  gable  now,  nor  wall 
That  does  not  suffer,  night  and  day, 

As  shot  and  shell  in  crushing  torrents  fall. 
The  stricken  tocsin  quivers  through  the  tower; 

The  triple  nave,  the  apse,  the  lonely  choir 
Are  circled,  hour  by  hour, 

With  thundering  bands  of  fire 
And  Death  is  scattered  broadcast  among  men. 

[70] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  RHEIMS  (continued) 

And  then 

That  which  was  splendid  with  baptismal  gr^ce; 

The  stately  arches  soaring  into  space, 

The  transepts,  columns,  windows  gray  and  gold, 

The  organ,  in  whose  tones  the  ocean  rolled, 

The  crypts,  of  mighty  shades  the  dwelling  places, 

The  Virgin's  gentle  hands,  the  Saints'  pure  faces, 

All,  even  the  pardoning  hands  of  Christ  the  Lord 

Were  struck  and  broken  by  the  wanton  sword 

Of  sacrilegious  lust. 

O  beauty  slain,  O  glory  in  the  dust! 
Strong  walls  of  faith,  most  basely  overthrown! 
The  crawling  flames,  like  adders  glistening 
Ate  the  white  fabric  of  this  lovely  thing. 
Now  from  its  soul  arose  a  piteous  moan, 
The  soul  that  always  loved  the  just  and  fair. 
Granite  and  marble  loud  their  woe  confessed, 
The  silver  monstrances  that  Popes  had  blessed, 
The  chalices  and  lamps  and  crosiers  rare 
Were  seared  and  twisted  by  a  flaming  breath; 
The  horror  everywhere  did  range  and  swell, 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  RHEIMS  (continued) 

The  guardian  Saints  into  this  furnace  fell, 
Their  bitter  tears  and  screams  were  stilled  in 
death. 

Around  the  flames  armed  hosts  are  skirmishing, 
The  burning  sun  reflects  the  lurid  scene ; 
The  German  army,  fighting  for  its  life, 
Rallies  its  torn  and  terrified  left  wing; 

And,  as  they  near  this  place 

The  imperial  eagles  see 

Before  them  hi  their  flight, 
Here,  in  the  solemn  night, 
The  old  cathedral,  to  the  years  to  be 

Showing,   with   wounded   arms,   their   own 
disgrace. 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


KINGS 

(For  the  Rev.  James  B.  Dollard) 

HpHE  Kings  of  the  earth  are  men  of  might, 
And  cities  are  burned  for  their  delight, 
And  the  skies  rain  death  in  the  silent  night, 
And  the  hills  belch  death  all  day! 

But  the  King  of  Heaven,  Who  made  them  all, 
Is  fair  and  gentle,  and  very  small; 
He  lies  in  the  straw,  by  the  oxen's  stall- 
Let  them  think  of  Hun  to-day! 


[73] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  WHITE  SHIPS  AND  THE  RED 

(For  Alden  March) 

VJ7ITH  drooping  sail  and  pennant 

That  never  a  wind  may  reach, 
They  float  in  sunless  waters 

Beside  a  sunless  beach. 
Their  mighty  masts  and  funnels 

Are  white  as  driven  snow, 
And  with  a  pallid  radiance 
Their  ghostly  bulwarks  glow. 

Here  is  a  Spanish  galleon 

That  once  with  gold  was  gay, 
Here  is  a  Roman  trireme 

Whose  hues  outshone  the  day. 
But  Tyrian  dyes  have  faded, 

And  prows  that  once  were  bright 
With  rainbow  stains  wear  only 

Death's  livid,  dreadful  white. 


[74] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

THE  WHITE  SHIPS  AND  THE  RED  (continued) 

White  as  the  ice  that  clove  her 

That  unf orgotten  day, 
Among  her  pallid  sisters 

The  grim  Titanic  lay. 
And  through  the  leagues  above  her 

She  looked  aghast,  and  said: 
"What  is  this  living  ship  that  comes 

Where  every  ship  is  dead?" 

The  ghostly  vessels  trembled 

From  ruined  stern  to  prow; 
What  was  this  thing  of  terror 

That  broke  their  vigil  now? 
Down  through  the  startled  ocean 

A  mighty  vessel  came, 
Not  white,  as  all  dead  ships  must  be, 

But  red,  like  living  flame ! 

The  pale  green  waves  about  her 
Were  swiftly,  strangely  dyed, 

By  the  great  scarlet  stream  that  flowed 
From  out  her  wounded  side. 

[751 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  WHITE  SHIPS  AND  THE  RED  (continued) 

And  all  her  decks  were  scarlet 

And  all  her  shattered  crew. 
She  sank  among  the  white  ghost  ships 

And  stained  them  through  and  through. 

The  grim  Titanic  greeted  her 

"And  who  art  thou?"  she  said; 
"Why  dost  thou  join  our  ghostly  fleet 

Arrayed  in  living  red? 
We  are  the  ships  of  sorrow 

Who  spend  the  weary  night, 
Until  the  dawn  of  Judgment  Day, 

Obscure  and  still  and  white." 

"Nay,"  said  the  scarlet  visitor, 

"Though  I  sink  through  the  sea, 
A  ruined  thing  that  was  a  ship, 

I  sink  not  as  did  ye. 
For  ye  met  with  your  destiny 

By  storm  or  rock  or  fight, 
So  through  the  lagging  centuries 

Ye  wear  your  robes  of  white. 

[76] 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  WHITE  SHIPS  AND  THE  RED  (continued) 

"But  never  crashing  iceberg 

Nor  honest  shot  of  foe, 
Nor  hidden  reef  has  sent  me 

The  way  that  I  must  go. 
My  wound  that  sta'ns  the  waters, 

My  blood  that  is  like  flame, 
Bear  witness  to  a  loathly  deed, 

A  deed  without  a  name. 

"I  went  not  forth  to  battle, 

I  carried  friendly  men, 
The  children  played  about  my  decks, 

The  women  sang — and  then— 
And  then — the  sun  blushed  scarlet 

And  Heaven  hid  its  face, 
The  world  that  God  created 

Became  a  shameful  place! 

"My  wrong  cries  out  for  vengeance, 
The  blow  that  sent  me  here 

Was  aimed  in  Hell.    My  dying  scream 
Has  reached  Jehovah's  ear. 


77 


MAIN  STREET  AND  OTHER  POEMS 
THE  WHITE  SHIPS  AND  THE  RED  (continued) 

Not  all  the  seven  oceans 
Shall  wash  away  that  stain; 

Upon  a  brow  that  wears  a  crown 
I  am  the  brand  of  Cain." 

When  God's  great  voice  assembles 

The  fleet  on  Judgment  Day, 
The  ghosts  of  ruined  ships  will  rise 

In  sea  and  strait  and  bay. 
Though  they  have  lain  for  ages 

Beneath  the  changeless  flood, 
They  shall  be  white  as  silver, 

But  one — shall  be  like  blood. 


[78] 


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